


Pedestals

by Daxolotl



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Blood Magic, Drinking, F/F, Gambling, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 18:06:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6250066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daxolotl/pseuds/Daxolotl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To Merrill, Hawke is perfect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pedestals

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eshkan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eshkan/gifts).



"I'll need a team. Carver, this was always our plan – I'm not going to ask you to sit this one out."

"Awfully nice of you, sister dear."

"Shut up, Carver."

It's early, and the Hanged Man is quiet – from the few times Hawke has brought me in here, I can tell it won't be busy for a few more hours.

"Anders. You're the only one of us who can sense the Darkspawn, so I need you to come with us."

"And here I was thinking I'd escaped that life once and for all."

Isabela keeps telling me she needs to get me in here one night for some fun. I tell her I have plenty of fun at the Alienage. She always says something about it being the wrong kind of fun.

"And Varric; this is your brother's expedition, so I really doubt you'd let me have you sit this one out."

"You were considering leaving me behind? You wound me, Hawke."

I look over at Hawke, leaning back in her chair and organising this expedition like she was born for it. A mug of something cheap is on the table in front of her, but she's ignoring it for now.

"Aveline, it's a lot to ask, but do you think you could check in on my mother occasionally? She'll worry with both me and my hardheaded brother gone –"

"I'm right here, sister!"

"– and I'll worry about her, too."

"Of course. I'll check in whenever I can."

"Thank you."

She looks so confident; so self-assured. Her staff is propped up against the back of her chair, and I think about the ways she uses it. I know magic she doesn't, but I don't have anything near to her confidence. My staff is held like a tool; she holds hers like she was born with it in her hands.

"Isabela, Merrill, can you keep Anders' clinic going? I'm sure you can smuggle in a few poultices, 'Bela, and Merrill…I know you're not a healer, but I can teach you a spell or two before I go. It would mean a lot to know the people of Darktown aren't losing their only healer."

"Poultices are no trouble; just don't ask me to apply them to any handsy old men."

"Merrill, is that okay?"

Hawke is beautiful. Her hair, her eyes, her smirk. She's one of the most amazing women I've ever met.

"…Merrill?"

Everyone is staring at me. That's usually a bad sign. "What? Sorry, I, um, I zoned out a little."

A smile dances at the corners of Hawke's lips. "That's alright, I know I can prattle on – can you look after the Clinic while Anders is gone? I'm sure he'll hate having a 'heathen blood mage' in his supply closet, but I can teach you a healing spell or two and as much as he protests, he'll probably be at least a little grateful."

Help at the Clinic? The surprise probably shows on my face, and Hawke's smile begins to fade. I nod hastily. "I can do that."

Her smile widens. "You're a goddess," she says, and I can feel my ears warming at the compliment.

"Oh, and Fenris? Just try not to get into too much trouble."

\--

I hug her for too long when it's time for her to leave. Not quite as long as her mother hugs Carver, but long enough for Fenris to start shooting dirty glances. Then again, he did that anyway. I take a step back and stare up at her face, memorising her features and the slash of red she likes to paint on to her face before battle. "Stay safe, Hawke," I say, but mean so many other things. I don't want to see another woman walk away to fight the Darkspawn and never return. I need her to come back.

She smiles. "I will. I promise."

She turns around and walks out of the gate, and dread fills my stomach.

\--

I hug her for too long when she gets back, too. I seem to do that a lot.

She laughs and returns the hug, but when I step back I can see the hurt in her eyes. I ask her what's wrong, and it flashes brighter.

"Carver. He…"

I hug her tighter.

\--

The next years blur past. I settle into the Alienage. Hawke buys a manor with the money from the Expedition. She gets a letter from Carver, letting her know he survived. She reads it out to me one day, pacing back and forth and doing silly voices for Carver. "Ungrateful sod," she mutters, and I laugh.

"Who knows?" I say, watching Hawke intently from my seat. "Maybe he'll meet the Hero of Ferelden. I hear she's very noble and dashing. A Dalish elf, of all things."

She pauses and looks at me. "Merrill. are you being… _coy?_ "

I grin. "Me? By the Dread Wolf, no. I'm far too innocent and naïve to do that."

A grin spreads across her lips. "Maker, you are! You know the Hero of Ferelden!"

I sigh dramatically and look away from her. "Oh, Mahariel and I go way back. She and I were practically family." I can feel the quirk of her brow even as I fix my gaze on one of my wall's myriad stains. 

"Family in the Carver way, or family in the actual familial way?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I ask, and Hawke approaches, and do her hips always sway like that, and I'm struggling to stay focused.

Her fingertips brush over my jaw and she pushes gently, encouraging me to look at her. "I'd like to know everything about you," she says, and kisses me.

Oh.

\--

I cough and splutter and stick my tongue out, placing the shot glass back on the table. "Ugh, how can you drink that?" I ask, and Isabela laughs.

"Just you wait, kitten – _some_ day I'll get you to do body shots, I swear it."

I hear cheering and look over at the table next to ours. Hawke is swindling people out of their probably-not-hard-earned money with a variety of games I don't quite understand the rules of. I'm starting to think that nobody understanding the rules is part of the game. She downs a shot with a laugh and places another glass under a tankard, shifting them around on the table before drawing three cards from a deck and rolling two dice.

She's definitely making the rules up. She catches my eye and winks. I blush, a warm feeling settling in my stomach.

"Can I have another one of those drinks?" I ask Isabela. Her eyes dart between Hawke and me, but she nods and gets to her feet.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't," she warns, and I get the feeling that that doesn't limit me very much.

I lean back in my seat, watching Hawke again. She draws a handful of cards and makes a face of disappointment, tossing a couple of coins at her adversary. He laughs in victory and takes another three shots.

She catches my eye again, wiggling her eyebrows. I see her mouth the word 'suckers', before she turns back to continue with the game. She turns back and manages to convince him to play one more round.

Isabela slides a drink across the table and slips into her seat again with a shot of her own and a mug of ale. "Cheers," she notes, clinking glasses with me.

"Cheers," I agree, and down the shot. Then I cough and stick my tongue out again. "HOW can you drink that?"

"Oh, you get used to it." She smiles at me and takes a sip of her ale. "So, how long have you and Hawke been shagging?" 

I cough again, and the warmth spreads to my ears.

\--

A month later, Hawke duels the Arishok to the death. Blood magic surges through her fingers and I watch her tear him apart. She spins the Staff of Parthalan, pointing the blade at the surviving Qunari. They run.

\--

"Why do you put up with me?" I ask one evening, as her body is curled against mine.

The new Champion of Kirkwall stiffens against me. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…you're amazing." I stare up at her. "You're wonderful, and beautiful, and talented, and _Hawke_. And I'm just…me. An elven blood mage, exiled from her clan, all for a broken mirror. You're perfect. I just…don't understand why you're not with someone like Isabela; she's as talented as you, and almost as pretty."

Her fingertips reach outwards, stroking over my cheek slowly. "You truly think that, don't you? Merrill…you're perfect in ways I don't even have the words for. And I mean that seriously – if you ask me to bullshit my way through meetings with smugglers and politicians, I'm all for it, but ask me for emotional openness and I, uh…I freeze. Yeah, freeze is the word of choice there."

I furrow my brow in confusion. She probably has a point that she'll be getting to, but for now I'm lost.

"When I look at you, I see a talented mage who told the elders to go screw themselves, because you've found a way to help your people. I see a woman proud to be Dalish, and eager to learn all she can. I see someone optimistic and hopeful about the world, who finds bright spots even when everything seems darkest to me."

Tears prick at the edges of my vision.

"I see everything I fight for – I see the reasons I fought the Arishok instead of running away. I see my _home_. You're my home, ma vhenan," the pronunciation is a little off, and I laugh through my tears at her attempt. "And there's no place I'd rather be than with you in my arms. So…stay? Live with me?" 

I open my mouth in astonishment. "W-what? Hawke, you can't be…"

"I'm serious," she interrupts. "I was just looking for the right time to ask you. I, uh…really hope you say yes, because I kind of already got a key cut for you."

I roll on top of her and kiss her, tasting salt. "Sorry," I say. "I shouldn't have done that. Because I've been crying and now you've got to deal with a crying elf lying on top of you and" I trail off, staring down at her grin.

"Is that a yes?" she asks.

"Elgar'nan, you're insufferable." I laugh, and kiss her again.

"I think that's a yes."

**Author's Note:**

> This is a piece of writing for the Wintersend Exchange 2016, as a gift for eshkan. I hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I also hope you don't mind my Purple Hawke and my self-indulgent mentions of a Dalish Warden.
> 
> It was written to fulfil the prompt "merrill loves hawke, but she believes that hawke is the greatest and puts her on a pedestal. hawke wants to raise merrill to that pedestal and show merrill that hawke believes merill to be the greatest."


End file.
